It Happened in the Bathroom
by Misakami
Summary: Kenny and Stan. Rape, underage sex, abuse, etcetera.


Stan Marsh had never seen Kenny as bruised as he was that morning. Sitting in class with the other at the next desk, he could hear his friend wheezing with every stuttering inhale from his lungs, saw the mittened hand pressing against his ribcage, noticed the blue discoloration under the boy's eye, the way it was practically swollen shut. It was common knowledge that he came from a poor family, and that his family dealt punches like hugs, spat insults rather than affectionate words. Stan never thought he'd have to see the product of an abusive home so close, though; it made him shiver to imagine just what tortures Kenny had been force to endure the previous night.

When class ended Stan approached his friend cautiously, waving a hand as he halted in front of Kenny's locker. "Hey dude," he couldn't tell if the falsity in his voice was imagined or not. From the hole in the scrunched hood, Kenny blinked his good eye and gave a muffled reply, closing his locker and turning away from the black haired boy. "Are you coming to lunch?" Stan followed closely as he hurried down the hall, hands shoved into the deep pockets of his orange jacket. Kenny grunted noncommittally and Stan furrowed his brows, jumping as the door to the boy's bathroom swung shut in his face.

Tentatively, glancing around the empty hallway, Stan pulled on the handle of the door and slipped into the vacant restroom, eyes scouring the bottoms of the stalls for a familiar pair of legs. None could be found however, and instead Stan located his friend near the sinks, head bowed and shoulders slumped. He removed his mittens one at a time, showing blistered, skinny fingers that flexed a few times before moving to the drawstring of a certain orange hooded jacket. Once off, a shaggy, unwashed blond mop of hair covered the majority of Kenny's broken face, which Stan tried to look at as the boy removed his coat completely.

He wore no shirt underneath, and as the bright material slipped from the child's body he growled and cussed, and spat a mouthful of blood into the porcelain sink in front of him. Stan hid behind a wall and ogled the half-naked boy, taking in the lean, sculpted shoulders, sloping back, cocked hips and smooth skin. Kenny was purple and green and yellow, and touched the clouds of color with a whimper. "Dude…" Stan whispered, and Kenny's head snapped up, revealing pale and frightened eyes. Before he knew what was happening Stan was lifted onto his toes by the front of his coat and slammed against the tiles behind him, head spinning as Kenny shouted into his face.

"Why did you follow me?" Stan closed his eyes against the anger, and winced as a fist collided with his cheek. Kenny bared his teeth in a snarl, one of the front ones missing. "You should have gone to lunch!" – "I'm sorry," Stan began, but was cut off as the taller boy landed another punch, this time to his chin. Stan bit his tongue and felt blood dribble from the corner of his mouth, and tears spring to his eyes. Kenny's nose was swollen at the bridge, and there were dried flakes of blood at his nostrils. "Ouch! Stop it, Kenny, what happened to-" he began, but once again was stalled as Kenny pummeled his knuckles into Stan's abdomen. He cried out and sunk to his knees, and his friend kicked him in the chest.

"You want to know what happened?" Kenny shrieked, his voice echoing in the silence of the unoccupied bathroom. Stan stared up at his friend fearfully, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. "I'll show you!" Bewildered, the black haired boy stiffened as the other fumbled with the zipper on his pants, and cringed once they were shucked down to scabby, knobby knees. Thin hips protruded from either side of Kenny's waist, pale skin stretched taut over them, creamy white apart from the hideous marks. A morbid decorum of grape-sized bruises littered the flesh of Kenny's thighs, and Stan gasped at the sight. "Who did that to you?" Stan burbled, another puddle of pink saliva drooling from his swollen lips onto the bathroom floor.

"Who do you think?" Kenny sneered and grabbed his friend by the hair, pushing the soft blue knit cap off his skull and onto the floor. He dragged Stan forcefully halfway to his feet and winced as the tips of their noses brushed. "You're fucking lucky, Stan, fucking lucky!" Stan wasn't entirely sure what the boy meant by that, but wasn't given much time to think it over as his mouth was covered mid-breath. Wide, confused eyes stared at the bit of thin blue skin in front of them, at the long blond eyelashes that left sticky prints of themselves on a swollen cheek. There were no tears visible in his friend's eyes, but Stan knew he was crying. That didn't stop him from fighting back, however.

"Dude!" Stan's voice cracked as he was allowed air, a long string of saliva breaking between his mouth and Kenny's tongue. Quickly he reached up, scrubbing the back of a mitten across his lips and shaking. "What the fuck, man, don- mmn," Stan was silenced by another kiss, and this time drummed his fists against the other boy's bare chest, struggling to knock him off. "I said s-ha-stop it, Kenny!" The feral look in the blond's eyes made Stan shiver, as well as the cold hand that had dived down the front of his boxer shorts.

"Ken-… Kenny," Stan swallowed and whimpered as the other boy's tongue monopolized his ear, feeling the boy's nails on his soft cock, the clumsy way the other's fingers caressed him. Kenny scowled and shoved the black haired boy onto his stomach, retracting his hand from the front of Stan's pants and replacing it in the back. He jerked them down and situated the other's legs apart, ignoring the curses and movements in favor of spitting onto his hand. He knew what to do- he'd do it whether Stan wanted it or not. Wasn't that the way his father had taught him?

"Ow-… Ouch, stop it, ow! Fuck!" Stan's cheek pressed hard against the ground as Kenny began violating him, something cold and slimy easing the friction as the blond boy slid a finger into his ass. "Ow! Kenny, that fucking hurts!" It did hurt. The faster the movement inside him, the more nauseous Stan felt, until his mind felt as though it were about to collapse in on itself. The absence of Kenny's fingers was not as relieving as he'd been expecting, and instead it only instilled more fear in the boy on the ground. Sure enough, something slightly larger now nudged his puckering entrance, and without fair warning plunged inside.

Stan screamed, and Kenny grabbed the knit cap he'd discarded earlier, shoving it into the boy's open mouth. If he was too loud it could draw someone in to investigate. Tears, hot and thick, streamed down ruddy cheeks as the stinging pain of penetration turned into the burning ache of fast, dry fucking. Stan thrashed his arms and tried to move, but Kenny's weight pressed him to the floor, forbidding him any relief. He was surprisingly heavy for such a skinny kid, and as Stan's fingers twitched and fumbled for purchase on the floor under him Kenny snatched his elbow, wrenching the boy's arm behind his back and twisting it until Stan squealed.

A sniffle or two could be distinguished amongst the grunts the blond emitted, as he jerked his hips sloppily and drummed his thighs against the soft cushion of Stan's ass cheeks. Below him Stan was groaning into his hat, whining, releasing pathetic sounds each time Kenny's cock thrust into him. He sounded like a puppy, all the power from his throat without the sense (or ability) to open his mouth. Kenny felt dizzy as he neared his climax, shoving himself harder and quicker against his friend, drilling into his body again and again.

Kenny's ejaculation was unsatisfactory, and once he'd emptied inside the shivering boy he burst into tears. Stan took this opportunity to remove his hat from his mouth, jaw clicking as he did so. The fabric was wet and salty from snot tears and spit it had collected. Stan hurled it towards the trashcan with a roar of anguish, turning on Kenny and finding him a crumpled, mostly naked heap on the floor. Thin lines of scarlet trickled from either of his nostrils, a heavy drip that splattered onto the bathroom floor.

"Kenny!" He screamed, and threw himself at the blond, eyes flashing as he grabbed the other's head and smacked it against the floor. Again and again and again, until the sclera of Kenny's eyes had turned red, and the bit of skull he'd been abusing was mush, a sickening mixture of bone fragment and red goo. Stan was covered in blood, semen ran down his thigh, and he threw up near the garbage can after crawling away from his friend's body. It had happened. He'd killed Kenny. He was such a bastard.


End file.
